


Pumpkin Latte

by okapi



Series: Spooky & Kooky (the Halloween fics) [2]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/F, Fem!John - Freeform, Fem!Sherlock, Fluff, Genderswap, Halloween, Inspired by Art, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-27
Updated: 2014-10-27
Packaged: 2018-02-22 21:11:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2521934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okapi/pseuds/okapi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Hallows' Eve fluffy Fem!Johnlock ficlet to accompany Justgot1's lovely <a href="http://justgot1.tumblr.com/post/94659596434/femlock-i-was-poking-around-in-my-fan-art-folder">artwork</a>. With references to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle stories "The Sussex Vampire," "The American's Tale," and "The Captain of the Pole Star."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pumpkin Latte

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Justgot1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Justgot1/gifts).



“You don’t find it amusing, Sherlock?”

“The fact I can’t get a wireless signal? Any signal at all? No, John, I find it hateful.” Sherlock threw her mobile on the bed and began to pace about the bedroom.

“We’re stuck in a spooky house, in the middle of nowhere, in a frightful storm.” Thunder cracked overhead. “Nice timing,” said John to the elements outside the rain-streaked window. “Where was I? Spooky house, nowhere, storm, ah, yes, no communication with the outside world, electricity supply dubious at best,” John gestured to the candles, matches, and candlesticks on the bedside table. “All on...drum roll, please...all Hallows' Eve. Oh, and... most importantly...you’ve just solved a case about vampires.”

“Your _acquaintance_...Mrs. Ferguson...was not a vampire. She was merely sucking the blow-dart poison—administered by her pathologically jealous stepson—from her infant. Quite ineffective method of poison removal, but given her Peruvian upbringing, no doubt the first method that came to a panicked mother's mind. The baby nearly succumbed to the poison’s effects were it not for the swift action by a Good Doctor...”

John bowed before returning to the enormous bed. She resumed scribbling on a writing pad. “And the clever deductions of a Great Detective,” she added, looking up with a smile.

Sherlock paused to study the rain. “Naturally. The boy’s gone into custody. The Fergusons have taken the baby to hospital. And here we are...”

“To wait out the storm until morning. Well, I intend to make the most of the light—while we have it—and jot down notes for the blog while things are still fresh in my mind. The part about the spaniel...”

“Yes, well, he had to have a trial victim for the poison, didn’t he? I could have solved this one from Baker Street, John, and then we wouldn’t be in this predicament. But I was so _bored_...”

John’s pen-to-paper and the rain were the only sounds for some time. Then Sherlock glanced back at the bed. “You know what I find objectionable about your blog, John?”

“Yes, I believe you’ve written a monologue on the subject...”

“You never include yourself...”

“You’re daft. It’s a first-person account. I am the narrator. Of course, I’m in it.”

“You never include your actions, the things that you do, to aid the case. It's all about _me_.”

“Sherlock, if our lives were a novel or a film or a BBC One series...”

Sherlock huffed.

“...it would be called _The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes_ or maybe just _Sherlock_. John Watson...”

“Dr. John Watson,” interjected Sherlock. "Dr. Watson."

“...would not figure into it. You’re extraordinary. The story is about you, not the Everywoman that tags along behind you.”

“Beside me. You’re essential, John.” Sherlock’s gaze softened. “To...everything. You deserve your due.”

John blushed. “Well, you’ll just have to write your own accounts and post them on your website, which no one will read. Plus, I don’t think this is about recognizing my contributions to cases. I think you’re dying to know what happened between Soledad and me in her bedroom. After all, she did agree to talk to you after I _attended_ to her.” John smirked.

“I can deduce it. I’ve already deduced it,” said Sherlock sharply.

John chuckled, but did not look up from her writing. Sherlock closed the window curtain.

“Tell me, John, just how did you come to _play rugby_ with Mrs. Ferguson in Peru? Not really an extremely popular sport there, I would imagine.”

“Are you calling into question my _athleticism_ , my Dear Holmes?”

“No, my Dear Watson. But I have come to realize that ‘Three Continents’ is, in fact...”

John rose from the bed and approached Sherlock. “...an underestimate. What former _rugby-mates_ of mine tell their husbands is of no consequence to me because I shan’t be playing any sport but Follow-that-Dashing-Detective from now ‘til the end of my days.” John pressed her lips to Sherlock’s. Sherlock hummed.

Lightening illuminated the sky outside, and thunder cracked. And then the room went dark.

“Bound to happen,” said John. “Creepy old place like this.” John fumbled toward the bedside table, cursing. Soon, the bed was bathed in the light of four candles. “Well, I shan’t drive myself blind trying to write by candlelight,” said John. She tossed the writing pad and pen toward the foot of the bed and settled herself at the head amongst pillows.

“Know any ghost stories, Sherlock? Or any scary story, really. Perfect thing for a night like tonight.”

Sherlock sat on the far edge of the bed. “How about the heat-draining Eskimo vampire that haunts the medical student on an arctic voyage?”

“Perfect. Then, I’ll tell you about the man-eating Venus fly-trap...”

* * *

The candles were half their original size when John said, “Okay, okay, let me summarize, there are a tribe of villains...semi-supernatural beings...”

“Yes,” said Sherlock.

“...who, in addition to their human blood drinking penchant, also tend to fancy...”

“... _adore_ probably a more apt term given the central role that it holds in their belief system...”

“...adore female genitalia.”

“Yes.”

“That would make them... _cunt-worshipping vampires_.”

“Precisely,” said Sherlock, easing from her position at the foot of the bed. She approached John  with the grace, focus, and readiness of a cat stalking its prey.

John giggled. “I don’t believe you, Sherlock.” Sherlock moved closer until their grins were almost touching.

“No?”

“No.”

Sherlock licked a stripe up one side of John’s neck. “Then allow me to _demonstrate_.”

* * *

Sometime later, they were both naked on the enormous bed.

“Believe me, now?” said Sherlock huskily.

“Christ, yes,” slurred John into the bedding. “Sherlock?”

“Hmm?” Sherlock was nibbling along the outer edges of John’s scar.

“I think we should add vampire/thrall to our repertoire of bed-chamber role-playing. Maybe not on the everyday menu but a...”

“...seasonal offering?”

“Yes,” moaned John when Sherlock’s lips had reached the small of her back.

Sherlock tilted her head in consideration. “Like those pumpkin lattes that you publically scorn as ‘ridiculous commercial pandering’ but which I’ve smelled on your jacket on two occasions.”

“Lestrade is notoriously weak for American imports. No moral fibre at all, that girl,” said John defensively.

“Not to mention a very pumpkin latte stain on the _inside_ cuff of your second-best work shirt, which you tried to conceal in vain. Really, John.”

John reached out to lob a pillow at Sherlock, which she easily deflected.

“Yes, like pumpkin lattes,” panted John when Sherlock had her pinned on her back.

“Suggestion accepted,” said Sherlock. She kissed John softly and lowered her body to John's.

* * *

Dawn had not yet broken when Sherlock slipped from under John’s warm embrace. She took up the writing pad and pen and, by the light of the last stub of candle, scrawled:

“The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes _& Dr. Watson_...”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Halloween! Thank you for reading!


End file.
